


Aliit

by TK_DuVeraun



Series: Reflections (OT-era) [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aliit ori'shya tal'din, F/M, Found Family, Horror, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Trauma Recovery, personal boundaries, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22147654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: If Din Djarin hadn't been ready to be a parent, he certainly wasn't ready to be forcibly adopted by another Mandalorian clan. He wanted to return the child to their kind, not face the fact that the Creed isn't the only thing keeping his helmet on. He was trained to fight people and beasts. Not the demons in his head.“Look at this expression, memorize it, draw it on the inside of your eyelids.” It was an aggressive sort of look: eyes wild, mouth in a tight, frustrated pout and eyebrows drawn close in disbelief. “When I make this face, imagine me saying: that’s what family does.”
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Character
Series: Reflections (OT-era) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639093
Comments: 72
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are many versions of Mandalorians spread across licensed, though no longer necessarily canon, works and I'm using the version I prefer rather than the one represented in the show or even necessarily from Clone Wars or Rebels. If it's not your cup, that's fine, but we're only going deeper from here on in, so here's your free pass to back out if you don't like it.
> 
> The horror and graphic descriptions of violence chapters will be clearly marked for your self-care and convenience.

Din Djarin was tired. He was knee-deep in a swamp with the small, green child held to his chest in a sling. The jet pack would have been great to use, far preferable to tromping around through the muck and plant matter, but the canopy hung too low. It was claustrophobic. He hated Dagobah with every fiber of his being, even if it meant reuniting the child with his kind.

He didn’t allow himself to consider that might be the reason he hated it so much.

He pulled himself up and onto a rotting tree fallen on its side. The child cooed and prodded the bottom of his helmet. “Yeah, I know. We’ll eat when we stop for the night.”

The child made another sound and then sunk down into his coat.

Scanning the jungle-swamp with his T-visor gave him another excuse not to sink back into the throbbing, squelching concoction of plants left to go fetid in water. Give him a scorching desert any day. He was about to grudgingly jump down when he saw a blip on his HUD. He adjusted the settings and zoomed in on the signal. At first, nothing showed up, then- there! A blaster-bolt, but a single, high-powered shot. A rifle, most likely.

A few hunters had continued to crawl up out of the Imp’s carcass of the two months he’d spent searching for the child’s people. Not many, but enough that he never dropped his guard, as if he could. The rifle came off his back and the child’s sling slid around. He walked backward along the tree until he could put another hulking monstrosity of moist bark between him and the signal.

An hour passed in tense silence. Gases belched out of the swamp to hiss in the humid air. The mystery rifle fired four more times, each shot coming closer. He adjusted his armor, tweaking the settings until the E&M signals were as low as possible without hindering his ability to dodge. A half hour after the last shot, he retuned his armor and pushed off from the tree. He could back track another twenty minutes to a mostly-dry spot to make camp. It was less than ideal, but better than relying on finding another viable site.

Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a rifle powering down. In an instant, he spun in place and had his pistol aimed at the wielder.

“ _Su’cuy_.” The rifleman was a Mandalorian, their armor yellow under moss and mud that has equal chances of being camouflage as incidental mess. They tilted their head when he didn’t respond. “ _Tion gar gai_?”

He didn’t lower his pistol. He scanned as much of the surroundings as he could without letting the warrior out of his sight. “I didn’t expect to run into anyone else here.”

“Do you… Not speak _mando’a_?” They put their hand on his wrist and lowered his blaster. Their voice is gentle and they sounded like they’re talking to a life-long friend, not a stranger. “Hey, it’s alright. We’re out on a hunt. It’s safe. _Morut’yc_.”

“I didn’t have a chance to learn it.”

The Mandalorian jerked back, straightening their spine. “No one in your clan could teach you?”

He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s just us.”

“Just- Oh. My condolences.” They touched his shoulder. “ _Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la._ That means ‘Not gone, merely marching far away.’ I’m Aquila. You can use ‘she’ for me, in Basic.” She slung her rifle over her shoulder. “Come back to our camp. We’ll get you dried out and fed.”

It was an easy to decision to follow her. Her armor was like a beacon in the dim light, even with the mess covering it. He could see peeks of a design painted it, white slivers of bone and metallic weapons. Some of the others from the covert wore trophies on their belts, so it wasn’t much of a leap to assume they marked her kills.

Aquila kept up conversation on the trek. “This is only our second pleasure hunt since the fall of the Empire. Times have been hard, since the Slaughter, I’m sure you understand that better than most. Your armor’s in good shape, though. I’m impressed.”

“How can you tell?”

She tapped her T-visor. “One of my _vod_ — that’s clan sibling — developed a sensor that can pick out weak points in _beskar_.”

“Why are you helping? You don’t even know us.”

Aquila froze and turned in place, one foot still in the air. After putting her foot down, she tapped her chest plate with a closed fist. “ _Aliit ori’shya tal’din_. Family is more than blood. And we’re all family, especially now.” She knocked his chest plate and then turned back to the jungle.

He didn’t know how to respond to that. “Thank you.”

“O’ course.” 

She didn’t stop again until the light from her camp cut through the mist. “Oh yeah, you never said; what do you wanna be called?”

It was surprisingly hard to answer. They hadn’t used names in the covert, lest eavesdroppers try to use that information against them. Even after Moff Gideon revealed him, Karga and Cara had still called him Mando, but that would be awkward in a group of all Mandalorians. Din hadn’t been his name in a long time. Family was more than blood, but— “Djarin. You can call me Djarin.”

“Hey, it’s alright. Just let us know if you want something else.” She knocked his chest plate again and strode into the camp. She called out something in mando’a that started with ‘ _Su’cuy_ ’ and ended with a chorus of ‘ _Oya_!’ From the gathered warriors.

The camp was a ring of tents around a fire with some six-legged beast turning on a spit and missing large strips of flesh. Aside from one person sitting in full armor, painted dark blue with red slashes, everyone had their helmets off. Djarin did a double-take and hoped the movement was hidden in his armor. 

It wasn’t.

“It’s all family here, but no one’s gonna push you, alright?”

He nodded and took a seat on a downed tree with no one else sitting on it. He spun the sling around and set the child on the ground.

“Oh, look at you!” Aquila knelt next to the child and held out her hand, waiting for him to reach out first. When he made contact, she laughed delightedly and babbled in _mando’a_ -accented baby talk.

The Mandalorian with their helmet on handed Djarin a rough wooden cup of black ale. “Here you go.”

Aquila sat between them and pulled the child onto her lap. She removed her helmet and set it behind her. She was human, or mostly so, with heavy, dark hair that looked black unless the fire’s light shone directly on it, showing off the red undertones. The sides of her head were shaved with only a thick braid down the center of her head that curled at the back of her neck before disappearing under her armor. With the knife pulled from her elbow joint, she sliced off a piece of meat and held it to the child after testing the temperature on her lips. “Hmm, how’s this? Smells good, right?”

The child took the strip with both hands and slurped it down like a particularly thick noodle. 

Half of the warriors laughed, slapping their thighs or banging their chests in exuberance. Aquila said, “What a good little carnivore we’ve got here. What’s their name?”

Djarin shrugged. “No idea. If the Imps that wanted him knew, they didn’t say and now they’re dead.”

As one, the Mandalorians silenced and turned pointedly away from Djarin, leaving him with Aquila and her helmeted clan sibling’s stares. 

“So what have you been calling him?”

“Kid.”

The sound of gauntlet meeting helmet heralded Aquila’s, somewhat hysterical, laugh. “You- You what?”

“Look, I took a bounty. I wasn’t expecting to become a parent,” he said, shoulders around his ears.

Aquila tickled the child’s sides. “What about Agolika? Would you like that, you little beast?”

“Aky, no.” The warrior made the Mandalorian equivalent of eye contact with Djarin. “I’m Vas, by the way. _Alor’ad_ of the hunt. Welcome.”

“Thank you for having us.”

“Of course.” He turned his helmet to the child and shook one of his hands with just his thumb and forefinger. “Look at that big smile. What about Nuhu? Always _nuhur_ for you, isn’t it?” 

The child laughed and shook Vas’ finger.

Djarin shrugged. “If he likes it.”

“ _Nuhur_ is ‘good times.’ _Nuhun_ is ‘joke.’ So _nuhu_ is like… Goodness. Not really a word, but everyone will understand it,” Aquila said while cutting off a second strip of meat. She ate with as much gusto as the child -- as Nuhu. “We’ll put you up in our tent,” she gestured to Vas, “as soon as I’m done so you can eat. And don’t worry about it. It’s far from the first time we’ve tripled up.”

Some invisible signal went from Vas to the others, since conversations started up all around the fire and no one paid Djarin any attention.

“How long have you two been hiding out here? This is an awful swamp,” Vas said.

“We’re not hiding out. I’m trying to return the child to his kind. I heard a rumor that a creature that looked like him lived here.”

Aquila and Vas shared a glance. She said, “But you are his kind.”

“You know what I mean. He’s too weak for our life.”

“He’s a child. Of course he’s weak.” She held up a hand to forestall any further arguments. “I know you weren’t ready to be a father, but you’re not alone anymore. You’ll both come home with us, we’ll get you settled in and when he’s old enough Nuhu can decide for himself if he’s suited to our life.”

“I have a duty.”

“To raise warriors. _That’s_ in the _Resol’nare,_ not returning orphans to others of their race.”

“There’s no one living in this swamp,” Vas said before Djarin could retort. “Your rumor was either old or wrong. Come with us. If you’re determined to find them, you need a proper _yaim_ to rest and consolidate your information. You can work with _alor_ and our scouts… We can get you a meeting with Mandalore if you think that’ll help.”

“Mandalore is dead.”

Aquila put her hand on his arm. “We have Mandalore the Patient, now. Succession isn’t linear even without… The Slaughter. We rebuild and continue on, just as we always have. I know it’s difficult to trust us, but by our honor, we are _aliit._ I promise you that. Come what may, neither of you will ever have to be alone again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Su’cuy - Hi  
> Tion gar gai - What's your name?  
> Morut’yc - It's secure.  
> Agolika - Agol'ika - flesh and blood + little one  
> Alor’ad - Captain (lit. child of the alor)  
> yaim - clan home


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not put "trauma recovery" in the tags idly.

Despite Vas’ assurance that no one lived in the swamp, Djarin was unwilling to leave without checking himself. Aquila insisted on staying with him after seeing the horrific damage to the back of his helmet. “How long has it been like that? Are you okay? That’s not damage you just walk away from.”

“I’m fine. An IG unit treated it with bacta-spray.”

“IG units aren’t outfitted with bacta-spray.”

Djarin stopped and turned to face her, one hand holding a serving of meat and the other holding the cup of black ale. He sighed with a drop of his shoulders. He wanted to tilt his helmet down to loom over her, but not only would it have no effect on a life-long Mandalorian, but she was taller than him. “This one was reprogrammed into a nurse droid. And before you ask, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” He let his slumped posture add, “It’s late. I’m tired and I’m hungry.”

“Okay, but Catra’s going to take a look at that when we get to Meshurok _yaim_. She’s our primary doctor.”

“No living being has seen me without-”

“By the ancestors!” Aquila took a deep breath and held it with her hands over her cheeks. She released it when she’d calmed down enough to whisper. “Look, no one cares if you echani or even cathar by blood, but honestly you’re a little short for a cathar, anyway! Catra wouldn’t breathe a word of it to anyone but _alor_ and no one else- Ah! Fine. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I’ll send Nuhu in after you in an hour.”

She breathed heavily and stamped her feet, but neither added more complaints nor tried to follow him into the tent. Though he’d never had one of his own, Djarin had borrowed tents from the covert over the years. Despite belonging to the captain, which Aquila had translated an hour late, the tent was old with the original components taped over and new ones wired haphazardly in place. They’d left him a bedroll and a large canteen of water. 

A small sani-crate, something he hadn’t seen in a long time, held sterile wipe-down cloths and a mini oral hygiene kit. He removed his helmet and took advantage of everything in the crate. The jagged scar from the shot to the back of his head felt wrong, unnaturally lumpy and edged in a way none of his others were. He’d told himself it was his own inexpertise with wounds and healing that kept him from investigating further, but the truth was that it came down to his unwillingness to remove his helmet for anyone, medic or no.

After the cursory clean up, he closed the sani-crate and watched it hiss as the sanitization cycle engaged. He replaced his helmet and laid down, letting the swish and whirr from the crate lull him into sleep he needed more than he would have admitted. He roused when the child toddled in and laid in the crook of his arm, but otherwise slipped into the deepest sleep he’d had in recent memory.

The next morning he woke to the sound of Aquila baby-talking to Nuhu outside the tent. He sat up and saw she’d left him breakfast in the form of strips of meat sticking out of a wooden mug identical to the one he’d used the night before. After eating in silence, he locked his helmet into place and ducked out of the tent. The camp was gone and Aquila’s clan with it. The sun was high enough in the sky to cut through the muggy mist. Failure slipped down his throat to settle uncomfortably in his stomach. How could he have slept through twenty-some fully armored warriors packing up and leaving? There wasn’t even a trace of where the firepit had been. The clearing was nigh-untouched.

Aquila put her hands on his shoulders. She filled his vision and spoke softly, to pull him back from the edge of fear. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. Stay with me. You woke up earlier, but _beskar_ on _beskar_ ’s a pretty distinct sound. You probably heard it and knew you were safe. You’re alright.”

“I should have been prepared.”

She held his helmet still and pressed her forehead to his crown. “We had nightwatch. That’s what _aliit_ is for. You’re alright. Nuhu’s ready to go, too. Just take a minute. I’ll pack up the tent.” 

When he sluggishly nodded, she pushed him down onto one of the logs they’d used the night before, set the child in his lap and tore down the tent. Nuhu laughed and waved his arms at her, which was fine until the tent started jerking from side to side. 

Before Djarin could do anything more than pick him up, Aquila waggled a finger at him. “Hey now, this is my job, little one. You keep that to yourself.”

Djarin cradled Nuhu in his arm and turned his body in between him and Aquila. “You’re not bothered?”

“Why would I be? He’s just having a little fun.” She shrugged and started shoving the compressed tent into a small pack. 

Though he didn’t want her to rescind her clan’s offer of help, and hearth, he knew better than to hide. “The armorsmith said he was from a race of sorcerers called the Jedi. Our enemy.”

She froze, hunched over the pack and he waited for the rubble that had once been her trust to come falling down. After staring into his T-visor, she huffed out a deep breath and sealed the pack. She unhooked her helmet from her belt and pulled it on. “Do you want the pack or the child?”

He swallowed, not sure how to answer into the tension he created. 

She strapped the pack to her back. “Alright, let’s get going. If we push, we should be able to check your marked location and then be back at your ship before midnight.”

“Nuhu is the child of our enemy.”

“Walk and talk at the same time.” She shoved his shoulder. Despite her own words, she didn’t say anything else until they were half an hour out from the clearing. “First of all, Nuhu is your child, the end. Second, the Jedi aren’t a race of sorcerers.”

“Then what are they?”

“A cult.” She snarled. “They kidnap any child with a gift for sorcery and brainwash them until they forget their family and their heart goes cold in their chest. If a child is too emotional, they’re locked in isolation to ‘meditate’ until they can ‘control themselves.’ That’s why they are our enemy. A blight on everything we stand for.” She struck out her fist and hit a tree so hard its groan echoed over the swamp for long minutes.

When her anger had had time to run off, Djarin asked, “Then what is he?”

“Your child.” She scanned the area with the sensors in her helmet. “And while he has the gift the Jedi covet, it’s not sorcery. Sorcery is… I don’t know. I’ve heard about it in conjunction with Dathomir, but Nuhu is Force Sensitive.”

“Dathomir… Warriors called the Night Brothers, right?”

“I think? I really only know about our people.” She cut through a swath of vines with her vibrosword. “I take it you don’t know what the Force is, either?”

“I knew you would get to it.”

She laughed. “Right, how to explain? The Force itself is just… Uh, life juice. If someone is Force Sensitive they can use life juice to do things other than… live. So, he moved the tent, he could also enhance his senses, make his body more powerful-”

“Heal?”

“In a pinch, but that’s robbing Kipp to pay Jiik.”

“What?”

“I’d ask if you grew up under a rock, but the answer is probably yes. What I mean is, if you’ve got medpacks or kolto shots or bacta, or even bandages, that’s a better use of your resources than life juice. Healing is expensive.”

Djarin stroked Nuhu’s head. “He knocked himself out the last time he did it.”

Aquila tripped and landed face-first in the swamp. She came up with a spray of water of mud. “He _what?_ He healed? Already? He’s just a baby, no wonder it knocked him out. I guess he’s going to need training to _not_ use his gift. Galaxy’s a crazy place.”

“That’s why I need to return him to his kind.”

“You are his kind,” Aquila interrupted.

Djarin continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I don’t know sorcery-”

“It’s not sorcery.”

“So he needs-”

“Someone else in the clan to handle that part of his training. That’s normal. _Buir_ \-- my parent -- didn’t train me in anything.”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

“Why are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the TK hates the Jedi agenda.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're children.

They spent another day and a half on Dagobah. Djarin found signs that someone had lived in the swamp for at least a few months, but they were long gone. He collected a few fragments of metal and pottery to examine later. Something about the area unsettled Aquila, who was uncharacteristically silent and pawed at the ground with her boots in between pacing. Even once they were back on the Crest and she had her helmet off, she was frowning.

“What is it?”

She shook her head and input the route to Meshurok  _ yaim. _ “It didn’t feel right. Heavy Force use leaves traces, like blaster scars or spent energy cartridges. There was a Jedi there, without question. It was… cold. Empty. Like standing at the edge of a cliff when you can’t see the bottom. Or falling down.”

Nuhu toddled to her and held out both hands to be picked up.

“Thank you, little one.” Once she was done with the nav console, she picked him up and held him up next to her cheek.

“You could feel it? You’re Force Sensitive.”

“I… Yes. It’s not-” She sighed and lowered Nuhu to her lap. “I guess we’re having this conversation now.”

“No.” With no small amount of hesitation, he touched her shoulder, hoping it held even a fraction of the calming effect the gesture had on him. “I was concerned about finding him a teacher.”

“Thank you. I’m sure  _ alor _ will explain everything during onboarding anyway. Suffice it to say… Letting me stay wasn’t the most popular decision.” She cleared her throat. “I’m going below to clean the gear. Just shout if they hail us.” Aquila disappeared down the hatch before he could say anything, leaving Djarin and Nuhu staring after her.

“Don’t look at me, kid.” He unscrewed the head from the control rod and handed it to Nuhu before the child could get into any trouble. 

Aquila’s vehemence at keeping Nuhu suddenly made more sense. It was as much about her own need to feel accepted as it was about the overarching concept of  _ aliit. _ What he couldn’t parse, however, was why Clan Meshurok would have disapproved of keeping her. If the Jedi wanted people with her gift, it was a tactical strategy to keep her out of their hands and she was more than capable as a warrior, if the trophies painted on her armor were any sign. Then again, those could just be overcompensation.

Djarin struggled to remember if her  _ vod _ had trophies painted on their armor, but couldn’t call up a clear picture. Either way, he was clearly missing something when it came to the gift of Force Sensitivity. The armorsmith hadn’t dismissed Nuhu because of the gift, instead it was his fragile constitution and assumed weakness. But he and the Mandalorians from the covert had different values than Meshurok and, presumably, Mandalore the Patient. He still didn’t know what was wrong with being cathar or echani, not that he knew what either of those races were. It was pointless to speculate.

He dozed off in the pilot’s chair, not true sleep, like he’d had the first night in Meshurok’s camp. The hum of the Crest’s engines and electronics systems let him rest and technically be asleep without losing his awareness of his surroundings. Once upon a time, he’d gotten deep sleep on the Crest, but not since he’d taken too many fringe jobs and certainly not since he took Nuhu under his protection. With Aquila puttering below with the gear, he was as relaxed as he’d been on Sorgan. It was nice, even if it meant acknowledging that it was good to have company.

That thought roused him, blinking inside his helmet. He’d been trying to recruit people ever since he went solo. The difference was that  _ she _ chose to come with him. Djarin hadn’t asked for help, he’d had her presence thrust upon him like the food shoved in his hand and being shoved into the tent during her turn on watch. It was the moment of sharing his rifle with Cara spread out over days.

“What in the galaxy is wrong with you?” Aquila’s yell shut down his subroutine of thought. “How does this even kriffing happen?” Her shout devolved into swears in multiple languages.

Nuhu tilted his head to the side and stared up at Djarin. He nodded before leaving his seat and taking the ladder down. “What?”

She shoved a lump of something into his hands. It was larger than his helmet and both grey-green and brown-black. It might have pulsed when he touched it. With her shoulders around her ears, she shivered, holding her hands away from her body. “That. That is what.”

“What is it?”

“I was hoping you knew, since it was in your galley, next to your food.” A combination of small kicks and what Djarin could only assume was Force trickery, she opened up the sani-crate and retrieved a bleach-cloth. She scrubbed her gloves, meticulously digging into the armor plates to ensure it was clean. “You either have echani blood or the immune system of a super soldier to not be vomiting up everything you even think of eating.”

“I’m not familiar with echani.”

The rag hit him in the center of his T-visor with a wet splat before dropping to the floor. “Don’t think I don’t know that you’re just trying to distract me from this  _ war crime _ you’ve been growing.” She shook herself like a manka that stepped in a puddle. “But fine. Echani are an artificially designed, semi-human race. Millennia ago, someone looked at humans and decided to our systems more efficient. I’ll spare you the details, but evolution didn’t do my bloodline any favors. Anyway, the salient issue is that they’re our cultural enemies… rivals, something in there. They don’t wear armor, overly concerned with genetics, you get it.”

“Directly competing ideologies.”

“Yes, like that.” She gestured to the mass of… whatever it was. Mold and worse. “That directly competes with my ideology of surviving to my next birthday.”

Djarin dropped it on the floor. It wobbled like jelly before rolling over and consuming the cleaning cloth. “I didn’t ask you to clean the galley.”

Aquila framed her face with both hands. “Look at this expression, memorize it, draw it on the inside your eyelids.” It was an aggressive sort of look: eyes wild, mouth in a tight, frustrated pout and eyebrows drawn close in disbelief. “When I make this face, imagine me saying, now listen carefully, hear my words: that’s what family does.”

He stared at her.

She stared back, expression unchanged, waiting.

“Alright.”

Aquila sighed and shoved past him to the ladder, giving the throbbing mass a wide berth. “This is my punishment, isn’t it? The ancestors taking their piece for all of those years I spent as the darling of the clan.” She affected a mocking voice, “Don’t do the eagle cry in people’s ears, Aky. Don’t eat all of the sweet buns, Aky. One day you’ll have a trainee just as annoying as you.”

While listening to her monologue, Djarin jabbed the mass with his boot. It slurped over the metal, as if trying to taste it before retracting to its center. He couldn’t remember ever keeping food in the galley, much less whatever spored the horror before him. Well, a quick kick out the airlock would make it someone else’s problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaim - clan home
> 
> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments. I'm very excited about this story, so I love seeing what parts you enjoy. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Meshurok _yaim_ sat atop a tall hill with a sheer cliff on one side. Fortifications speared the hillside, jutting down the slope like the sharp scales of an akk’s back. Djarin lowered the Razor Crest on the leeside, leaving it to rest between two others with similar levels of abuse and repair work. A small lump in his throat faded away. A part of him he usually ignored had worried about the impression his old ship would make.

Aquila didn’t even put her helmet on as she prepared to disembark. It stayed clipped to her belt as she carried Nuhu on one ship and hummed, horribly out of tune, to herself. The sani-crate was stacked on top of the tent, in desperate need of replacements after the Mold Incident, as she’d taken to calling it with a scowl that was only half-serious. Or only half-joking, depending on how long it’d been since she ate. She blocked him when he went to pick it up. “Someone’ll come and get it. Don’t make me make the face.”

“Alright.”

Shoulder-to-shoulder they walked down the ramp and through the landing site to the main gate. The construction was deceptively ramshackle: the many joints a sign of mobility, not weakness. Painted across the double-wide gate was a large, purple outline of a diamond, flanked by a black hound on one side and a red fox on the other. 

“Meshurok means gemstone,” Aquila murmured before hailing the gate guard with a deafening, “Oya!”

The guard vaulted from perch and sprinted to Aquila, pulling her into a hug and lifting her into the air despite being a full head shorter. He was a black-haired chiss with his armor painted the same red as his eyes. He spoke to her in quick cheunh Djarin couldn’t understand, not that he would recognize much outside of ‘kill.’ Aquila slapped him on the arm and responded in a language he’d never even heard before. After setting her down, the guard patted Nuhu’s head and knocked a complex pattern against the gate. 

“Don’t mind Skauris,” Aquila said in Basic. “He likes to speak cheunh just because no one else can.”

Djarin nodded at her and braced himself for interrogation as they approached the gate. But none came. Skauris and the other gate guard just nodded as he passed. Past the buffer zone were semi-permanent tents in haphazard lines. Warriors of all ages, most with their helmets off, were about, focused on their own tasks: some worked on fabric, others carved wood or bone, several were tuning or cleaning weapons. A line of children ran past in piecemeal armor, chasing after a gangly child wearing a furred cape. They screamed “Aky!” at the top of their lungs as they passed, many slapping her yellow thigh plate. 

The members of Clan Meshurok glanced at him, but gave him a nod at most before greeting Aquila or returning to their work. The closer to the center of the camp, the more activity pressed around them.

Aquila squeezed his wrist. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re tense enough to snap your spine.”

“This covert-”

“ _Yaim._ ”

“ _Yaim_ is very… boisterous.”

“We did just get back from a pleasure hunt.” Without removing her hand from his arm, Aquila lead him around the center and to the very back of the camp where a small series of permanent buildings stood. “It’s okay. _Alor_ won’t meet with you until at least tomorrow. You have time to adjust.”

“What’s this?”

She looked between the buildings and him, hesitating. “Medbay.”

Djarin inhaled deeply through his nose, not that anyone would notice. He had agreed to speak with the doctor, even with his refusal to remove his helmet. 

“You can hole up in your accommodations,” Aquila said, her tone gentle. “But _alor_ will keep you grounded until Catra clears you for duty, one way or another.”

He pulled his arm away and opened the door, stepping in without a word. Catra is mostly human with brown hair that’s greying at the temples and nubs on her crown where horns failed to erupt. She looked up with eyes so dark they looked black. “You must be the new blood.” Her expression erupted into a smile when Aquila came in with the child. “And this is little Nuhu!”

Djarin watched nonplussed as the doctor scooped Nuhu out of Aquila’s arms and took him deeper in for an examination. He glanced at Aquila. “Did you forget to tell them my name?”

“Hmm? No. You didn’t seem comfortable when I asked. Names are important. You’ll get one we can use soon enough.” She shrugged as if it were obvious. As if she’d never considered calling him Djarin. "Aran, that’s my blood brother, he’s changed his name, oh, maybe six times? And Kyra, it’s short for assassin; she earned hers when we were brats and has refused to acknowledge anything else since.”

“How is Kyra short for assassin?”

“Assassin in _mando’a_ is _kyramud_.” Catra handed Nuhu back to Aquila. “Your turn, new blood. Now, do you need these two troublemakers or can I get them out of my infirmary?”

Without moving his helmet, Djarin looked at Aquila form the corner of his eye. She was making faces at a delighted Nuhu. He could trust her to look after him. “I’m fine.”

“Alright,” Aquila said, “I’ll go figure out where Vas has put you up and then pick you up from Nouj later.”

“Nouj is the armorsmith,” Catra said. “Right arm.” She hooked a datapad up to the control unit in his gauntlet. “I’m copying your biometrics for your records. Any allergies?”

“No.”

“Persistent medical conditions?”

“No.” The interview seemed to last an eternity with the inevitable confrontation looming ahead. Despite the cooling system in his armor, he felt sweat beading against the back of his neck. He’d rather fight the mudhorn again. Alone.

“Alright, kid, take off your helmet. Let’s see the damage.” Catra must have been warned because she showed no surprise or irritation that he didn’t follow her instructions. 

“I haven’t taken my helmet off in front of anyone since I put it on.”

“I’m sure your brain damage is delighted. Off.”

He didn’t move. “If I take it off, I am no longer Mandalorian.”

The words hung brittle and awkward in the air. Catra had undoubtedly been Mandalorian longer than he’d been alive and there she stood without a helmet. She neither laughed, nor looked at him with derision or disappointment. She kicked a chair in his direction. “Have a seat.” She collected a datapad from her office and brought a chair to sit opposite him.

Uncertain what was next, but grateful she wasn’t pushing the issue with his helmet, he took a seat on the edge of the chair. 

“How often do you feel tired out for no good reason?”

“What?”

“Answer the question.”

“Sometimes?”

She hummed and input something into her datapad. “And how often do you feel like everything takes effort?”

“Every now and- Is this necessary?”

“Very. That’s every now and then? How often do you feel restless and fidgety?”

“Never.”

“Mmhmm. How often do you feel depressed?”

Djarin leapt off the chair, knocking it to the floor. “I’m fine. I’m not depressed.”

Catra lowered the datapad and stared directly into his T-visor. “You are quite firm in your belief that you’re a better warrior dead than alive. Now, sit and answer the questions or remove your helmet and we’ll leave that conversation for another day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akks, or akk dogs, are like a cross between a pangolin and a dog. Cheunh (the Chiss language) is literally impossible for humans to speak bc some of the sounds can't be made my humans!
> 
> Thanks again for all of your support on this fic! The comments really help get the words out.


	5. Chapter 5

The curtain hung tight around his medical bed. Wires and tubes were looped through a rough cut in the fabric. Loose threads still hung off the edges. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up since the surgery, but it was the first time he could count to ten and move all of his fingers and toes. He was laid out on his side, loose straps keeping him from rolling onto his back. His head should have felt tight from the bandages, but instead it felt relaxed… like floating in a lake.

An armored glove knocked on one of the medical machines outside the protective shield of the curtain. “Awake in there?”

Djarin moved his eyes to the seam of the curtain, at the foot of the bed, but the voice came from near his head. Would they come in? The loose threads from the fresh cut in the curtains said otherwise, but his body was tight with tension when he said, “Yes.”

The bottom of the curtain lifted and a lone hand held out his helmet. “Can you reach that? Nouj finished repairs while you were out. He also wants to propose to your armorsmith. Said he’s never seen work this good outside of his own.”

Grinning, he takes the helmet and clutches it like a child with their favorite toy. “Thank you.”

“Thank  _ you _ for cooperating with Catra. She showed me the  _ beskar _ shard she took from your skull.”

He fingered the back of his helmet. Aside from being perfectly clean, he couldn’t see anything different from when he first received it. “She gave me a lecture on energy weapons and  _ beskar _ while she was doing the imaging.”

“From what Aky said you needed it.”

Despite the blankets, Djarin suddenly felt cold. “...You’re not Aquila.”

She laughed hard enough to shake the curtain. “Do we sound that similar?”

He frowned blurrgishly at the curtain. “Yes.”

“I’m Carina,  _ alor _ of  _ Aliit Meshurok _ . Nice to meet you, kid. We’ll have a proper get together in a few days when you’ve recovered. Nuhu’s too young for the children’s barracks, so he’s bunking down with Aky until you’re out. Once you’re cleared for duty, Vas will do your technical evaluation, but for now, just rest and recover.”

“Alright.”

“Welcome home, kid.”

\---

Carina, the Hound of Meshurok sat tall and imposing with meticulously kept armor. It was grey, the color of mourning Aquila told him from the other side of his curtain in the medbay, with a brilliant red silhouette of a fox. Foxes and hounds were creatures of legends, myths. The trickster fox and the stalwart hound. Her physical resemblance to Aquila was even more uncanny than the similarity of their voices. If her hair was greying, it was only in the shaved sections on the sides. The primary difference was in expression: compared to her mother, Aquila looked guileless and naive.

She looked up at him from her datapad. “You understand that I have to report this to Mandalore? The incident on Nevarro didn’t go unnoticed, but since the rumors said the clan was wiped out, there was no pressing need to investigate.”

“We weren’t a clan.”

“I understand the armorsmith not wanting to call her people Clan Vizsla after everything that happened or, ancestors preserve me, Clan Mandalore, but in terms of how it affects our people, that’s a semantic argument, and a weak one. From what you’ve told me, it sounds like she was going back to the old ways, which isn’t so different from us and Mandalore the Patient.”

“What do you mean? With the helmets?”

Carina nodded and folded her hands on her desk. “And more. You’ve probably noticed  _ mando’a _ is easy to learn. That’s by design. It makes it easier for adoptees to assimilate and in the early days it was entirely secret from outsiders. However, after a few thousand years, even the cheapest droids will have a dictionary and translation module. It’s still a bonding point, an aspect that makes us family, but the practical reasons for keeping it hidden from new blood no longer exist.”

“That’s why Catra has no patience for my Creed.”

“She’ll respect it to a point. We all will. That point just happens to be when it endangers the clan.” She tossed the shard of  _ beskar _ from his helmet onto the desk. “The bacta treatment saved your life, but it healed the bone around this. You’re very lucky she removed it before it cause permanent damage. Hit a rough patch in the hyperlanes and jostle your brain around? Suddenly your motor function is gone out the vac tube.”

“I understand.” He felt like a small child again, being lectured after slicing open his palm on his father’s knife.

“But that’s not to say we’ll just run roughshod over your feelings. I’m happy to officially adopt you into Meshurok.” She waved dismissively over the table. “That doesn’t override your mudhorn designation with Nuhu, it’s just another name you can wear. And you can, without the ceremony, but it could make you feel better.”

With his heart in his throat, Djarin needed a moment before he could respond. “That’s unnecessary. But thank you. You’ve done so much for us, I can’t-” He cut himself off because Carina, his new  _ alor, _ was giving him that expression. The long-suffering ‘That’s what family’ does, look, but something was different. There was understanding in the tilt of her mouth and the dimness in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

That was it. A dismissal, he could leave, find his accommodations and get started on this new life with Clan Meshurok. He could have, but something pulled at his mind, waving its arms for attention. “Why did the clan want you to send Aquila away?”

Carina blinked, pulled her head back and blinked again. Her eyebrows pulled together and she leaned across the desk. “Did she say that?”

“Because she’s Force Sensitive.”

“Oh.” Carina deflates then, transforming from  _ alor _ to  _ buir. _ “For being so smart, she’s certainly an idiot at times.” She sighed. “Many people, even myself at one time, believe that… certain changes in ideals, particular grievances suddenly set aside, contributed to us being targeted for the Slaughter. It’s more likely the Empire simply didn’t want a powerful, independent, Force-resistant state to potentially stand against them.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Long ago, Force use was made anathema to our people. A  _ dar’manda, _ one that is anything but Mandalorian, once performed horrific experiments on our children in an attempt to create an army of Force Sensitive Mandalorians. With as disparate as our people can be, Mandalore and their council didn’t believe we could prevent another Demagol without removing Force Sensitives from our ranks entirely.”

“Is the slope that slippery?”

“Some say that those who created the Echani had the same goal in mind. Then there are countless Force Sensitive races that have died out due to similar experiments. Sith meant a specific race long before it meant Dark Force user.”

Djarin didn’t regret neglecting most studies of history, but there was certainly far more of it involved in Mandalorian life than he’d ever imagined. Everything was about living in the moment, living for who you are, not who you were before. “You don’t believe Aquila or Nuhu would follow that path.”

“Of course not. There are others in the clan, too, those whose gifts are present, but don’t assist them in combat. In time, they may reveal their gifts to you, or they may not. The crux of the issue is that I trust myself not to take that lane. Vas, who will succeed me, will also hold the line. I trust him to either pick a worthy heir or to find a new home for our  _ vod _ with those gifts.” She sat back in her chair. “Mandalore and I have agreed to keep Force wielding Mandalorians confined to Meshurok for now, to decrease the risk.”

“I see.”

“The clan trusts me and they love Aquila., but despite my best efforts, she is notoriously insecure.”

“The trophies.”

“Yes. She earned them, but…” She gestured to her own armor, which had none.

“I’ll keep what you said in confidence.”

A smile crossed her face and softened the lines in her forehead. “You’re a good kid, Mudhorn.”

“Is that…?”

“It’s gonna be unless you give them something else to call you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Yes, thank you for reading! I'm recovering from a migraine, so there may be a slight delay in the next few chapters. That said, I'm super excited for COSMIC HORROR
> 
> As always, thank you for the lovely comments!


	6. Chapter 6

The forest surrounding Meshurok’s camp was brown and yellow with the beginning of the planet’s autumn. Crunchy leaf-litter blanketed the ground and made silent passage difficult. Djarin hadn’t bothered trying to be soundless. Instead, he disguised his movements as an animal’s. A few careful steps followed by a flurry of movement, then waiting. It took him a day and a half to track Vas and shoot him with the training rifle.

When Vas flicked on a small energy shield in time to block the shot, he felt a flare of annoyance that was burned out by… excitement? Joy? Glee? He couldn’t be disappointed in his performance when his opponent was so skilled. And prepared to train him in return. For the first time since he lost his parents, he wouldn’t be struggling just to survive. Wouldn’t be learning to stay ahead of the spectre of death. He’d be training to get better for the sake of getting better.

His throat was tight with emotion when he dropped down next to Vas and took the proffered canteen. “Thanks.”

“You did well. Slower, but stealthier than the average for riflemen in the clan. We can move you into recon. You’re a bit of a heavy for it, but it’ll probably be an easier transition from solo jobs.” Vas sat back in his folding chair and stretched out his legs. “But you don’t have to make a decision immediately. Hound already has a job lined up for you and Aky.”

Djarin drank from the canteen through his straw and then sat on the ground with his back to a tree. “Know what it is?”

“Bunch of families from the late Empire want to know what happened to their loved ones. They were all deployed on the same ship that never came back. They pooled all of their savings to afford it. They still can’t, but we’re not going to let something like credits get in the way of closure.”

Djarin capped the canteen and clasped his hands together in his lap. “What makes them so sure it wasn’t the usual?”

“The ship’s still out there. It fell out of hyperspace enroute to Dromund Kaas via Hutt Space. The Empire lost contact just after the Slaughter and sent a recovery team. No one came back. They sent a _second_ recovery team. Nothing. That means there’s something on that ship the suits wanted. Badly.”

“Sounds important. Why send me?”

Vas laughed. “You only just earned your _beskar,_ so your rates are cheap. _Alor_ thinks there’s Force kark going on, so Aquila has to go, just in case. Besides, with Nuhu you’re going to have to get used to all that nonsense.”

“Alright.”

They let the conversation die, allowing the sounds of the forest to seep into the camp. Moon bugs started chirping just as the sun began to set. There was something unnatural about Vas. Djarin could sit still for long periods of time, often did, but there was a difference between sitting still and not moving a muscle. Vas didn’t wear normal _beskar’gam_ ; his armor was made up of smaller plates that covered him like scales. Some sections, particularly around his joints, weren’t plates at all, but some kind of leatheris weave. It wouldn’t have hidden even a muscle twitch.

Curiosity gnawed at Djarin’s spine like hunger, but it would be un-Mandalorian to ask.

“I heard _buir_ call you Mudhorn. That what you’re going with? I know you don’t like the name you gave Aky.”

It wasn’t a question of not liking it. “It’s a name from before.”

“Ah.” Vas nodded and turned his helmet to look off in the distance. After several minutes, long enough that Djarin thought the conversation was over, Vas removed his helmet entirely and set it on his lap. His skin and hair were bone-white, mapped over with scars looked to be drawn on with chalk. Black tattoos cut through it all, like cracks into his soul. “I chose to leave ‘before’ on my own. I hated it. Hated everything about it. I had a twin. I hated what he became, but I had a dream, a wish that one day he’d leave it, too. So I kept the name he gave me.”

“Ah.” Djarin breathed deeply, imagining he could take autumn’s bite in the air through the filters in his helmet. “I can understand that.”

Vas turned back to him, his eyes looking menacing and eerie with white irises. He twisted his arm in a way that would be impossible in regular _beskar’gam._ “ _Cin vhetin_ is about removing everything unnecessary. Everything that hurts us or weighs us down. We keep the things that make us stronger.” He replaced his helmet and said nothing else.

True night came over them and Vas signaled that he would take first watch. It made sense: he hadn’t been sneaking through the forest for the last 32 hours. Din hesitated before entering the tent, his hand on the top. “Djarin is my family name. They sacrificed their lives for me.”

“It’s a good name, Djarin.”

\---

“Is Vas echani?”

Aquila hit her head on the lid of the chest she was looking through. She looked away from the gear and up at Djarin. “Kriff. What?”

“Echani. You and _alor_ both bring it up every time you talk about enemies of our people.” Vas certainly wasn’t human and she had mentioned echani being physically superior humans. A greater range of motion could necessitate the armor variation he used.

Aquila rubbed the back of her neck and then went back into the chest. It was half-full of trophies. He wanted to know what she was looking for -- they were supposed to be packing for the trip to the Imperial ghost ship -- but that he would learn eventually, while he’d already spent three days stewing on Vas’ race. When it was clear she wasn’t going to answer him, he added, “He removed his helmet during my assessment.”

“Ah. He must like you, then.” She came out of the chest holding a silver necklace with large purple stones. They pulsed with life. “Yes, he’s echani-by-blood. He’s also the only one that cares. Most clans haven’t even heard of echani. The animosity comes from the old days before the Empire swallowed them up. Bottom line is, he can’t look at his own face.”

“Because of his twin.”

“Because of a lot of reasons. As they say, ‘The most understanding carry the most pain.’”

“I’ve never heard that.”

“You- You don’t get a vote!” She closed the chest with her foot. The necklace crumpled in her hand as she dug down the front of her armor with her free hand. Eventually, she removed a single, cloudy, orange crystal on a breakaway chain. She snapped it off her neck and held it out to him. “You’re an idiot who doesn’t know anything. Now take this.”

Djarin clasped it around his neck without complaint, but… “What is it?”

“Additional mental protection against whatever it is we’re going to find on that ship.”

“And the creepy _dar’jetii_ necklace?”

“It eats the wearer’s soul. Don’t know how we’ll get it around the neck of a ghost, but we’ll figure something out.” She sounded far more confident in that than he thought she should, but he said nothing.

Instead, he nodded, touched her shoulder and then moved deeper into the storage tent to collect the more-standard supplies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _beskar'gam_ \- Mandalorian armor
> 
>  _cin vhetin_ \- fresh start/clean slate, it means that what happened before you were Mandalorian doesn't matter and, essentially, that the person you are didn't exist until you became Mandalorian.
> 
>  _dar'jetii_ \- Sith
> 
> The horror section starts with Chapter 7! I hope you're ready for a Return of the Obra Dinn-style adventure!
> 
> Thank you for reading, leaving kudos and commenting!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This sub-plot's theme song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GadL-6wpp3U).

Deep space was unsettling. The blackness that spread out to infinity in every direction. Countless stars that were nothing but pinpricks with the distance that separated them. Djarin felt like it could swallow him up at any moment. It was the reason hunters kept finding him and Nuhu: he’d been unwilling to hide in the vast emptiness. Thinking of his child made him miss him. Kyra, the warrior named assassin, was watching him with her own child: a mostly-human almost two years old with blonde hair and sharp, yellow eyes.

He missed Nuhu, but for the first time anxiety didn’t settle in his heart at the distance. No, the emptiness of space did that all on its own.

If Aquila was bothered by it, she hid it well. Her armor was freshly painted for the operation. The base coat was dark blue with Nar green protective sigils drawn on. “They don’t do anything,” she’d said. “The _beskar_ cancels out any possible effect, but it makes me feel better.” 

She was drawing sigils on a thin ribbon of plasteel. Her thick marker dried instantly, resulting in a lot of swearing when she made a mistake. He watched her carefully cut out the section and then fuse the two pieces together again with a tiny flame from her flamethrower. 

“Do I want to know what that is?”

“It’s a spell.”

“You said the Force wasn’t sorcery.”

“There’s a lot of grey area.” She capped the pen and fused the two ends of the ribbon so it was a complete loop. “Dedicated Forcers will draw the sigils in the air when they want to cast it. I don’t practice nearly enough for that.”

“What’ll it do?”

She rolled it into a small coil around her hand and then stuffed it into a pouch on her belt. “Imagine the evil whatever-it-is that’s caused this has a battery full of life juice. This will drain the battery harmless-” She froze and looked over at him. “You’re human, right?”

“Why?”

“So, it uses up the energy by voicing the true essence of whatever the thing is, but at a frequency humans can’t hear. You might go mad if you listen to it.” She made a lot of gestures, mostly circles, as she explained.

“Might?”

“Well, there’s no way for us to know ahead of time what the true essence of the thing is, but that only matters if you can hear it. If you can, I’ll change the spell to, I don’t know, make heat or something, instead. This is just my go-to, since it won’t damage any equipment and if we really need to, we can play back the recording at an audible frequency or just run it through a translation algorithm.”

“I’m human.”

She made the hand-signal for affirmative and then stood. “We’re going to pop out of hyperspace any minute now. I’m gonna load up.”

Djarin returned the hand signal and put his concentration on not watching her go below. He’d fully expected her to have learned everything from Catra. For as much as it shouldn’t matter, she was the child of the clan leader, but… He didn’t think she’d even asked and that surprised him as much as anything. Trust was… a strange thing.

The nav computer screamed, so he gave it his attention. He confirmed that yes, he did want to leave hyperspace here in the middle of nowhere. No, do not send a distress signal. The coordinates weren’t perfect, but he was able to see the stranded capital ship. Two recon vessels were tethered to one of the lower levels. With practiced ease, he pulled the Crest up next to them and set it to idle when he joined Aquila below.

“This is where the recon teams breached. Where do you want to go in?”

She had a heavy, grey cloak over her armor, making large, indistinct lumps where her gear was. “Here. We have a hull-cracker, but whatever it is that killed the recon teams has been living in deep space with minimal, if any, life support for thirty years. We’re not going to take it by surprise, no matter where we enter. Might as well take the easy route.”

“I’ll dock her.”

When he returned below, Aquila had his gear at the foot of the ladder. She was standing at the airlock, connecting a scanner to the ship. She turned the read out in his direction. “According to these schematics, we’ll come in via the engineering deck. There’s an emergency energy shield covering the breach, but that’s easy enough to drop for a few seconds. If any of the electrical systems are on, they’re running on backup power, so I can’t connect to life support or anything from here.”

Djarin nodded and pulled his gear on. She’d prepared a door-cracker and EMPs, along with an advanced slicing unit. Without comment, he nodded that he was ready. On her signal, he leapt from the Crest’s airlock at the energy shield that disappeared just before he made contact. Aquila’s boots hit the ship’s deck with a muted twank. The artificial gravity was on, but weak.

She fiddled with the controls in her gauntlet and spoke directly from her helmet to his, no sound escaping to the ship at large. “Take point. I’ve got your six.”

Strips of emergency lighting ran along the floor and ceiling, twisting around the heavy machinery and casting deep shadows that flickered as the aging lights coughed and sputtered out the luminescence. It was so quiet, Djarin could hear his pulse beating steadily in his ears. The night vision in his helmet did little to clarify the scene: too much equipment jutted out from the walls to have a good line of sight. There was only one direction to go: in, with wires hanging down from the ceiling like fat snakes.

 _Beskar_ rang like heavy bells against the durasteel floors. Ten meters in, his HUD lit up with an alert. He adjusted the controls on his helmet the same way Aquila had and spoke in her ear, “Surveillance camera up ahead still has power.”

She nodded and took up position at his back as he hooked the slicing kit into the camera. During normal functioning, this passage would continue forward, with the door as an option, but a section of the ceiling was caved in, blocking their path with bent bronzium and thick plasteel cables.

“The system as a whole is down, but the camera has some cached memory.”

“It’s pointed at the door. Worth a look.”

Djarin pulled the footage up on his slicing screen and inhaled sharply through his nose. He pulled Aquila back by the shoulder, pushing the slicing unit into her hands and taking her place on guard. If his stomach hadn’t been filled with cold anticipation he would have laughed at her choked-out curses as she watched the footage. He could see it clearly, as if it was burned into the HUD on his T-visor.

A diminutive twi’lek with a shock collar ran toward the camera, mouth torn open by silent screams. Thick tendrils of purple-black smoke emerged from the floor, slithering through the air before wrenching the ceiling down on top of the poor, green twi’lek. One of the tendrils undulated on the camera side of the debris before slithering into the next room through the closed door.

“I was right. Looks like some nasty Force kark alright. Check for an audio track next time. I’m afraid we’re gonna need it.” She pulled out the plasteel roll with the spell and wrapped it around her wrist.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild gore warnings from here until I say so. Not torture porn, but ya know. Take care of yourself while reading.

Aquila stood at the door and waited for Djarin to slice it open. She stepped through, crouched low in a stalking posture, her hands ready to draw her vibrosword. The useless runes on her armor seemed to glow in the low light. “We’ve got a cold one.”

The body was a woman in the Imperial, dark grey jumpsuit for engineers, short, brown hair fanned around her head. The blood-stained floor could be seen through the hole in her chest. Her left arm wasn’t in sight. Her right hand still clung to a control lever. Despite the blood splatters being dry, her skin was still pink and plump.

Djarin turned away from the corpse and scanned for another camera. He kicked a crate so he could reach the unit over the door. His whistle called Aquila over from her inspection. The first frame showed the woman at the console and nothing amiss outside of the stress in her posture. He started the playback.

_“Wickerlin! Power to the blast doors.”_

_“It is! They’re reporting an obstruction.”_

_“There’s nothing on the moni-”_

The commander’s voice was cut off by a sharp gurgle. A slapped into frame before being dragged out in the next moment. The woman -- Wickerlin -- jerked in place, tendrils exploding out from her chest. Her arm simply vaporized with no apparent cause.

“You’re in charge. One word and we withdraw.”

“This is what I expected. The last death was more troubling. It’s horrifyingly easy to kill things with the Force. Moving inert objects takes far more power.”

“I like an enemy I can see.”

Aquila knocked on his shoulder. “We can handle this.” She moved on to the engineering console and set up at the first screen that powered on. “Looks like one of the recon teams managed to disengage the blast doors, but surveillance is completely down. We probably won’t get more than a couple seconds of local memory in each of the cameras. Should be more than enough for the clients, though.”

“What’s the oxygen level?” Djarin nudged the body with his foot. “There’s almost no decomp.”

The electrical humming was nearly deafening with Aquila’s silence. At length, she pushed away from the console. “Breathable. Kriff. I didn’t even think about that.” She knelt next to the corpse and let her hands hover a centimeter over the flesh. “So we’d expect normal, planetary decomp, minus a few bugs.” She prodded the chest wound with a small, metal rod. Blood dripped from the compressed vessels. “No rigor, something’s keeping the blood in... “ She unfastened her left gauntlet.

Djarin grabbed her arm before she could touch the body. “That’s a bad idea.”

“I can’t confirm if it’s the Force with _beskar_ in the way.”

They stared at each other through their T-visors and Djarin felt a spike deep in his chest that he couldn’t see her face and read her emotions. “Use the _dar’jetii_ necklace.”

“I- ...Good idea.” She yanked her gauntlet back on and pulled the necklace out of some pouch hidden by her cloak. The necklace dangled from just two fingers before she dropped it in the vague region of the body’s neck. A flash of light and ash burst from the corpse and both Mandalorians jumped back, Aquila crashing into the console with a loud clatter. 

When the dust settled, the body was nothing more than dry bones in an old uniform.

“Somehow… This is so much worse.”

“We know what happened. We can leave.”

Aquila shook her head and approached the skeleton on her hands and knees. Using the metal rod, still bloody, she lifted the necklace off the corpse. A new light sparkled within one of the crystals, winking like a horrible, purple eye. “We need to contain whatever this is or people are just going to keep throwing ships at it.”

Djarin gave her a hand up. He said, “We should keep moving.”

The ringing from their boots had a new edge to it, a new hollowness that scraped against their eardrums even with the helmets. Another body laid ahead of them. This one looked like it had been frozen in carbonite and then knocked to the floor. Aquila edged around the body first, the necklace still clenched in her fist. 

“Another camera behind me,” she said once she’d gotten to the far side of the corpse. She leaned over the outstretched arms and examined the dagger the dead woman held. It spat out a weak burst of energy when she got too close. “This isn’t Imp gear.”

The camera’s shutter was at half-mast, staring at Djarin like some disappointed guardian. He tried to shake off the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck as he hooked in the slicing kit. The dead woman was visible, dagger lit and held defensively in front of her.

_“What the kriff is this? You said this was recon of a ship that went down five years ago! That body is fresh!”_

An Imperial with far too many commendations on his breast stood away from her, his hat blocking his face. _“Are you afraid, Giona?”_

She turned to the Imperial. _“I’ll give you something to be afraid of!”_ But as she drew her arm back to strike, a purple light took hold of her body, mouth still open with her shout. The Imperial flinched and ran for the door.

When he lowered the screen, Aquila was still staring at the corpse. He said, “Let’s keep going.”

“We can’t leave her like this.”

“We can do rites for the lot of them when we’re done.”

Aquila straightened in a rush and looked around the room, adjusting the settings on her visor as she did. “That’s not what I mean.” She strode away from the corpse, stopping at a deactivated droid. “Give me the neritylene torch.”

Together they cut off one of the droid’s arms. Aquila wrapped the joints tight with rope from her own supplies and then tied the necklace into the hand.

“Good idea.”

“I have them, on occasion.” Standing as far back as she could, she lowered the necklace onto the corpse, where it absorbed the lingering Force energy and reduced it to bones. “Whatever this bad thing is, it’s holding the bodies in stasis for a purpose. My guess? Batteries, for when needed.”

“So we’re going to have to clear out every single one of these bodies on the way.”

She pointed ahead to where a third skeleton laid. “Some of them have already been taken care of, at least.”

“Does it know we’re doing this?”

Aquila didn’t answer immediately. She walked down the length of the room until she was back to the door. Debris still blocked their way, but one of the previous recon teams had cut into the adjacent wall so they could slip back into the main hall. At the forth body, this one also a skeleton, she paused. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Can the _dar’jetii_ necklace hold all of them?”

“Hopefully.”

Another door blocked further progress. What laid beyond it was anyone’s guess. “We can come back with a larger team.”

Their T-visors met again. He imagined Aquila frowning when she said, “I’m the only Forcer with a chance of shielding against… Whatever this is. I can cover you and me, but after that, it gets iffy. Bringing more _vod_ would just feed it.” She waved with the droid arm. “Besides, I don’t think we even can leave at this point. I can’t feel the Crest anymore.”

“That’s why you brought that plant.”

She nodded. “I tethered my Force to it before we left.”

“When were you going to tell me you couldn’t feel it.”

“I gambled on never.”

“Looks like we lost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I've got a real bad cold, so there might be a delay in posting.
> 
> Thanks again for all of the feedback, it really helps!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character panicking. May be triggering.
> 
> I have a really bad cold. Apologies if things are late.

The main deck had more light than engineering, a result of the countless electrical panels and devices with lights and bright screens. Djarin stepped over a mouse droid, stranded without power. Another was caught on a floor runner that was bunched up against the wall. He shifted his visor from night-vision to standard, but couldn’t see anything of interest.

“Something happened here, but no bodies,” he said.

“There’s a camera over the lift. Give me the slicing kit.” Aquila stepped up on air as if it were stairs until she was standing at eye level with the camera. She took the kit without looking at him and sliced into the camera with practiced ease. With the screen tilted down, they could both watch at once.

Purple-red power dripped from the ceiling like water until it coalesced into a two-legged, four-armed simulacrum that dragged its feet down the hall. It swayed three times before lurching forward and moving to the closest door. Though it had legs, it didn’t walk; it dragged them across the ground like the limbs of some kind of string puppet.

“Will the necklace work on that?”

“Ye- Well…” Aquila waved the droid arm. “That thing isn’t the source of the evil. If it was the full spirit it would look more, ah, real? And it would move naturally. Or at least with more purpose. Given how it manifested on this level, I’d say the source is up on the command deck.”

“Watch where you swing that.” That was the wrong thing to say.

Aquila pushed it into his face, jangling the necklace until the crystals banged against his helmet. “What? Are you scared of a little  _ dar’jetii _ jewelry?”

Djarin pushed it away. “Don’t take your fear out on me.”

At least she had the grace to look contrite, kicking the floor and looking away. “Sorry. Right. Well, she should go after the thing and see what it’s capable of.”

The next room was a slaughter. They didn’t need the cameras to see the path of destruction. Fully half of the corpses had been reduced to skeletons, while the rest laid like abandoned toys waiting for a bored child to return. Amongst the grey uniforms were several mercenary kits, the colored armor glaring in the monotone.

“The recon team got this far,” Djarin said.

“...Yeah.” Aquila pressed the slicing kit into his hands. “You take care of that while I get started on… All of this.” She lowered the necklace to the first body.

Climbing the consoles to reach the cameras wasn’t a problem, even as the bile churned in his stomach with each one. The first camera showed the power-creature lurching into the room. The Imperials hadn’t known how to respond, some shouting, others running for the far door. The clip ended with one purple-haired woman held up by the neck until her flesh dissolved. The creature became brighter and roared with new energy, though if it had made a sound, the camera didn’t catch it.

The next camera showed the end of the creature’s reign of terror. Bodies were strewn across the room, looking like it was in the present, minus the recon team. The creature moved with the natural gait Aquila said it should have had. It had two yellow pin-pricks in its smooth face. They swept over the room like hungry eyes. The creature picked up another body, a limp zabrak, and tossed it to the side. Bones and fabric clattered against the wall.

The fifth camera showed the recon team. Four mercenaries to three Imperials, at least after the deaths on engineering. They argued amongst themselves. The leader was a scarred nautolan with half of his head-tendrils cut off at shoulder-level. He gestured with a dagger so black it seemed to absorb any light that came near. 

_ “Any Force kark that gets close will be sucked into the blade. Either find your courage or your death.” _

_ “I’d like a little more reassurance than that,” a human in blue armor shot back, gesturing to the dead surrounding them. _

_ “Then go take a nap with Giona, Milk-drinker.” _

One of the Imperials let out a death-howl as the creature seeped out of the ceiling and consumed him as it fell. The ‘milk-drinker’ made it two steps before its tendrils of power tripped him and sucked his life out. The mercenary leader cut through the tendrils like they were grass and sprinted out of the room.

“Hey, Aky, I’ve got something here!” He lowered the screen, but she wasn’t in sight. He jogged around a row of consoles and found her knelt in a circle of bodies, hands in fists, arms crossed over her chest and shaking. Djarin approached her like she was a scared animal, with slow steps and without dropping his guard. He didn’t see anything that would cause such a reaction out of her, but… “Hey, Aky. Oy.”

She tilted her head up in supplication, but not toward him. Her voice trembled. “This is bad.”

Djarin touched her shoulder and kept scanning the room for threats. “Gimme a sitrep. Recognize one of these Imps?”

She jerked out of his reach and scrambled to her feet. The droid arm with the necklace she held aloft between them. “No. Stay back.”

“What is it?”

She looked at the ceiling again. “I can feel something.”

“The source?”

The necklace rattled as her hands shook. “And it feels me.” She panted into the comm link. “It has a hook in.”

“Calm down. We can handle this.” He stepped up to her, heedless of the bones and flesh beneath his boots. “We put the necklace on the source and everything’s fine.”

“It has a  _ hook _ in. I can feel it in my blood. It’s calling me.”

“Calm down,” he ordered. He snatched her wrist before she could jerk away again. He pulled her in and touched their helmets together. “It’ll be fine. One of the mercs had-”

“But if we put the necklace on the source, it’ll take me-”

“Enough! Take a breath.”

The droid arm hit the floor with a clatter when she dropped it. Aquila yanked off her helmet with her free hand and pressed the metal to her forehead. She took several, shaking breaths before stilling. Even with her dark skin tone, she looked ashen and pale.

“We’ll be fine. Trust me.”

For several minutes they stood there, close and touching, as she tried to pull herself together. Djarin released her wrist and put his arm around her back. He didn’t know what else to do. He could only hope it was enough. Then, her hair started hovering away from her scalp, loose strands pulling at her braid. A white light seeped out of her skin, growing to nearly blinding before winking out.

The bottom dropped out of Djarin’s stomach. He shook her. “Aquila!”

“I’m okay. I’m okay…” She pushed off from him with her helmet. Her eyes were unnaturally blank and her mouth was slack with calm. “I just.. Some meditation techniques. Give it a minute.” Her breathing slowly returned to normal and character finally twisted the muscles in her face. “Okay. Alright.” The light was back in her eyes. “The merc had what?”

“A dagger. Black-bladed. He said it could absorb the source.”

“Did it look wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like it was made of nothing, instead of metal.”

“Yes. Darker than black.”

She took a few measured breaths and looked around at the bodies, mostly reduced to skeletons. “Right. It could be a soul-sever dagger.” Aquila held up a hand. “Don’t ask.” She replaced her helmet. “If it is, if it’s a  _ good _ one, we can use it to break the hold it has on me and then use the necklace. Right. It’ll be fine.”

“I’ve got your six.” He kept his voice even, despite his heart pounding in his chest. Aquila was insecure about her place in her clan, not about her fighting ability. For her to be so shaken… The dagger was going to have to be enough.

“Yes. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _dar'jetii_ \- Sith, I forgot to mention this earlier, sorry.
> 
> I drew art for this chapter that you can find on [Tumblr](https://tk-duveraun.tumblr.com/post/190252209809/hey-aky-ive-got-something-here-he-lowered) and [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/duveraun/status/1217066976046129152?s=20)


	10. Chapter 10

There was no light on the bridge. Even the night vision in their helmets couldn’t pick up anything, with its ability to pick up hundreds of levels of contrast. The bridge should have had transparisteel windows letting light in from distant stars. Blood pounded in Djarin’s ears, nearly drowning out Aquila’s instruction. 

“No filters. No torches.” She squeezed his wrist, then shifted in front of him to take point. 

Unable to see, Djarin followed directly behind her. His breath caught in his lungs when they passed the dividing wall into the command center. The space was dominated by a mass of purple and white energy that throbbed and swirled like a nebula sped up to catastrophe. Tendrils crackled and snapped out of the mass, striking through the floor and returning plump and bright. Flicking on his night vision made everything disappear into blackness. He swallowed bile back down his throat. 

Despite her earlier terror, Aquila approached the evil with her head held high and her back straight. The droid arm didn’t tremble in her grip. Her right arm slashed down and she shouted a command. The words were a harsh, foreign language, but Djarin knew the meaning, if not the words.  _ Stand down. _

The energy crested like a wave, raising up until it was twice their height. Red light pulsed in its depths as it responded with a voice that echoed out from inside of Djarin’s head. He grit his teeth to keep from grasping his head in pain. His disintegration rifle felt like nothing more than a child’s toy in his hands.

_ “You will return me to my kingdom so that I may reclaim my true majesty.” _

Aquila threw out her arms like a raptor spreading its wings. “You are nothing!”

The evil’s will focused so intently on Aquila it was difficult for Djarin to look away from her. She was like a center of gravity and he was spiralling in to destruction. He closed his eyes long enough to banish the defeatist thought and bit the inside of his cheek to cling to focus. What was he supposed to do? How could he fight against a foe that wasn’t real? Aquila held the  _ dar’jetii _ necklace, even if it was cold and dead in the face of something more terrible. What did he have?

The weight of the slice kit drew on his mind. The dagger. She’d called it a soul-sever dagger. He could find it. Each movement was like pushing through hardening clay. With the filters in his helmet useless, he had to search the ground with the weak light from the evil. Even in the dimness, piles of raw bones cast grasping fingers of shadow that wrapped around his ankles and made each step agony.

Aquila screamed a raptor’s cry with so much Force behind it, Djarin felt his eardrums tremble in weakness.  _ Beskar _ was supposed to block the Force, but there was enough power to rattle his bones. The cursed dagger found him before he found it. It felt like tripping a pressure valve when he got close to it. He hadn’t realized the suffocating pressure on his lungs until it was gone, sucked into the void of the not-black blade. Afraid of touching the blade itself, even the hilt, Djarin lifted it in a cradle of its previous owner’s clothes.

The evil spoke again.  _ “What a powerful vessel you will make!” _

Aquila’s body jerked forward. She dug her feet into the rug until her boots screeched against the durasteel floor below. Her arms pressed back against an invisible wall as she fought the creature’s pull.

Her voice cried in his memory. “It has a hook in me.”

He flung the dagger at the mass of energy. Blood rushed to his head as his heart restarted and Aquila was able to scramble away.

The knife cut a path of darkness through the energy’s core, but instead of nothing, it sank into a humanoid breastplate. The energy writhed and collapsed in on itself, trying to fill in the hole made by the dagger.

“There’s someone in there!”

“They must have activated the relic!” Aquila shouted back.

A decidedly human hand reached out of the energy and fired a barrage of purple-black electricity at Djarin. It caught the center of his chestplate, but slipped around it to sink into his flesh. His vision blacked out and he found himself on his knees. When the pain released him, he looked up to see Aquila standing over him, a weapon of pure, yellow light in her hand, catching the lightning. With the blade of light held first, she approached the writhing energy.

“You end here and now!” Slashes from her blade and swipes with the necklace sliced out pieces of the foul energy. She pressed forward, each attack bringing her closer to the person within.

And then she froze. The blade trembled in her grip. She whispered into the comms. “It’s in my head. I can hear it.”

“ _ Atiniir!” _

A wordless scream was her only reply before Aquila lunged forward, leading with the cursed necklace. She looped it around something and then slashed through the purple light with her blade.

In that moment, the emergency lights activated and the pinpricks of countless stars shown through the transparisteel windows. The energy disappeared as if it had never been and the person at its core slumped to the floor. Aquila dropped her weapon, the blade disappearing before it left her hand. She unwound the plasteel ribbon from her wrist and held it in her left hand. The ribbon swirled wildly through the air as she chanted, the symbols lighting up one at a time. The ribbon left her hand and wound around the object she’d lassoed with the necklace.

Djarin caught a glimpse of a severed hand clenched around a black and green, carved stone before the plasteel covered it. Limbs weak and trembling from the electric shock, he pulled himself along the floor until he was right behind her. He took her offered hand and let her pull him up, snatching her weapon off the ground as he did. He pressed the hilt into her hand when he released it.

The person on the floor moved, limbs flailing as if they couldn’t control their own strength. When they lifted their head, they were a human man with dark red hair and the cursed dagger sticking out of his green chestplate. There was a design painted on it. Djarin couldn’t make it out, but it felt familiar in a way that made his stomach turn.

“What kind of spectre are you?” Aquila asked, her voice shaking.

He looked up at her like a prisoner seeing sunlight for the first time in fifty years. “That armor…  _ Aliit Meshurok.” _

“I asked what you are,  _ aruetii _ .”

The man threw back his head in hysterical laughter. He cradled the stump of his arm against his chest. “I am  _ aliit _ .”

“No.”

The man touched the painting on his chestplate. It was scarred from combat, but beneath the damage it was a large canine. “You don’t recognize your own  _ alor _ ’s work?”

Aquila lifted her chin. “Prove it.”

His expression turned soft. “Is that you, Kivia? Don’t you remember? Carina hired me to train you.” He covered his face with his single hand. “How long has it been? You’ve grown so much. You saved me. Thank you.”

A horrible weight settled in the pit of Djarin’s stomach. He thought he knew who this man was. He wasn’t sure if being right or wrong would be worse. He didn’t know Aran well, but he’d heard he was the spitting image of their father. He touched Aquila’s shoulder. “Do we take him back,  _ alor’ad _ ?”

“If you are  _ aliit _ , you will understand that we can only bring you back under heavy sedation.”

He touched the hilt of the cursed dagger that pierced his armor and the flesh beneath it. “Yes. Of course. That’s for the best.” He took a trembling breath. “How long has it been?”

“This ship was stranded thirty years ago,” Djarin said, trying to take some of the burden.

“Thirty years… My loves, I am so sorry,” the man said to himself. He held out his good arm, shaking it until his sleeve fell down. “It’s long past time I went home.”

When the man was unconscious, Djarin lifted him up onto his shoulder. He stared at Aquila as she wrapped the plasteel spell and the relic it contained in an abandoned jacket. Words swirled in his mind, each fighting to be let free. In the end, he said only, “Your father?”

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Atiniir_ -endure
> 
>  _aruetii_ \- outsider
> 
> Hey friends! Thanks for reading! As you may have noticed, there's a final chapter count up! There will be a sequel, but I need to break to handle a few things and decide where, exactly, I want to go with the rest of this. Feel free to drop suggestions in the comments.


	11. Chapter 11

Aquila said nothing for the entire flight back to Meshurok Yaim. She stayed in the co-pilot’s chair, her knees pulled up until she rested her helmet on them. She hardly moved and her gaze never left the console. Djarin kept his hand on her arm, but it didn’t feel like enough. He didn’t know what to say. If his own father suddenly turned out to be alive… Maybe it was a manka to varactyl comparison, since Aquila’s father was _mando’ad,_ but she seemed even more conflicted than he could imagine.

She didn’t even react when the clan hailed them.

“Alright, you’re clear to land,” Ty’lk’s holofigure said. “Anything else?”

Djarin glanced at Aquila. “ _Alor_ should meet us on the ship.”

Ty’lk’s figure pulled out a datapad. “Alright. I’m going to need a confirmation code for that.” He paused. “...No one got around to teaching you those, did they?”

“No.”

Aquila leaned out of the chair and pushed her way in front of the console. She rattled off a string of numbers and aurebesh letters. 

“Excellent. Carina will meet you at the airlock.” The call winked out and landing coordinates arrived in the Crest’s nav system.

“Is that in case we’re captives?”

“Mmhmm,” was all he got in response. Not that he expected much else, since she’d retreated into the locked, defeated posture.

Landing amidst the other Meshurok ships already felt more like coming home than returning to Nevarro ever had. As he powered the engines down, Aquila left her seat and dropped below. She was just opening the airlock for Carina when he joined her. 

She pulled her mother’s face until her forehead was pressed against her helmet.

“What’s wrong, Aky?”

“Nothing,” Aquila shook her head. “It’s just a lot. Brace yourself.”

Carina, the Hound of Meshurok with a fox emblazoned on her armor, even after thirty years, only raised her eyebrows. When Djarin opened the hatch to the Crest’s single bunk, she gasped audibly and leaned in, hand outstretched. “ _Riduur…_ How? That wasn’t the ship that took him.”

“Some Imp needed him to unlock a _dar’jetii_ relic. He let it take over.” Aquila touched the center of her mother’s back and then stepped away. “The sedative should wear off soon. We’ll give you some privacy.”

Djarin didn’t need the hand on his arm to make him leave the Crest, but he didn’t shrug Aquila off. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer until they reached the camp gates, at which point she released him. Her posture shifted, tiny changes in the arch of her back and the way she held her shoulder. If he hadn’t been at her side throughout the mission, he would have fooled. She turned her helmet toward him with a slight dip and lift that signalled a smile beneath the visor. “I’m fine.”

Even though he didn’t believe her, he nodded and let her walk away without a shadow. The clan noise suffused into his muscles and he felt… calm. It was almost anti-climactic after how harrowing the mission was. He let his feet take him to medbay. 

Catra clicked her tongue and hooked his arm panel up to her datapad to collect his biometrics. “Looks like you took a bit of a nasty shock.”

“ _Dar’jetii_ lightning.”

“Mmm, I’ll send you out with a nerve treatment. Come back if you feel any numbness.” She disconnected the datapad and checked a shelf of pill bottles before handing him a packet of three. “Aky behind you?”

“Fox needs a new hand.”

With mechanical movements, Catra replaced the bottle and set her datapad on her desk. Her expression was stiff and edged with disbelief. “She let you call her that? That’s her-”

“Her father is on the Crest. And he needs a new hand.”

With both palms planted on her desk, Catra leaned over and took several deep breaths. “You better not be kriffing with me.”

“Aquila cut it off to free him from… I don’t know even know what to call that.”

“Does Carina know?”

“She’s with him now.”

Catra looked up at him and nodded. “Right. Good. Ancestors preserve me. _Fox._ ”

“Can Kyra look after Nuhu a little longer? There are some things I need to take care of.”

“Yeah. Of course. She loves him.” Catra pressed a fist to her mouth. “Fox. Alive.”

“Where are Aran and Vas?”

“Training grounds.” Catra pushed off her desk. “Are you sure it’s him?”

“Aquila is. I’m going to let the others know.” Djarin turned and left before… He wasn’t sure, but he felt awkward enough, caught in the rip tide of finding Aquila’s father alive.

Vas was nonplussed by the news, slinging his vibrosword over his shoulder. “I should go and make sure everyone remembers to eat and drink.”

Aran just looked toward the landing area. “I already knew.” He shrugged at the eyes on him. “Aquila and I…” He waved his hand from his chest outward and then back. “I just knew. Anyway, you’re right. We should head over with supplies.” But instead of putting his practice gear away, he stared directly into Djarin’s T-visor. The look was dark with fierce expectation.

Djarin didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know Fox. He had no connection with the man. There was nothing he could do. 

Aran jerked his chin toward the camp, toward the sleeping area. _Aquila and I…_

Did he know, then? That something was terribly wrong with Aquila? Why send Djarin? As much as Meshurok already felt like home, when it came to this strange man, he was an outsider. Maybe that was it. What she needed. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, once.

“Good. Right behind you, Vas.”

Alone, Djarin reset the training grounds. Aran had abandoned his weapon and others had left the dummies out of position. Even working as slow as he could, it only took an hour. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help Aquila. That was his intent behind asking to have Kyra watch Nuhu longer. To the contrary, it was that he’d tried everything he knew to do already and was hoping for some kind of divine inspiration. None came, even by the time he procured sweet rolls from the canteen. 

Her tent let him in. Though whether it let _him_ in or if it would have let anyone in, he didn’t know. He hadn’t been hungry to begin with, but the sound of her choked sobs made him leave the rolls in the front room. Her armor was carelessly scattered on the floor of her bedroom. Even though each sob was a punch to the gut, Djarin gently picked up every piece and secured it to the waiting armor stand. 

She seemed impossibly small, curled up in her _kute_ and blankets with her heart leaking out. Her hair was a mess, violently torn from its braid and covering her like a veil.

It felt like pulling a knife out of his chest, like purposefully spilling his own blood all over the floor, but he removed his own helmet and set it on the nightstand behind her head. Every instinct screamed at him to leave. To turn and hide before he let anyone see him so vulnerable. He couldn’t. His gloves joined his helmet and he stilled his trembling heart long enough to sit on the edge of her bed. The skin of her cheek was scalding when he touched it to brush her hair out of her face.

“Hey. I’m here.”

She snatched his hand and pressed it to her face, like it could wipe away her tears. The sob in her throat morphed into a confused croak. She looked over her shoulder at him, all wet eyes and blown-out pupils. 

They made eye contact for the first time.

His heart filled with something. Overfilled until he couldn’t speak.

Hesitantly, like she’d felt his desire to run away, she reached out her hand until it touched his cheek. She dropped it and choked out a sob before pressing her face into the crook of his arm, body twisted in half. “Why?”

“More than _vod,_ I thought you needed… A friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _riduur_ \- beloved (specifically a spouse)
> 
>  _kute_ \- under armor, think gambeson not underwear
> 
> I _know_ that vod is functionally the same as friend. It's very intentional and Din and my parts.
> 
> Thanks for the comments, everyone! As I said last chapter, we're ending at 12, but there will be a sequel, though the main plot is still up in the air, so feel free to say what you want to see. The main issue is whether I'll show my own end for Moff Gideon or make up a brand new adventure!


	12. Chapter 12

Djarin had no idea how long it took for Aquila to cry herself dry, but at some point she dragged him into laying next to her, boots and all, his arms wrapped around her cocoon of blankets. Her face was pressed into the top edge of his chestplate, which couldn’t be comfortable, but he supposed she’d grown up more familiar with  _ beskar _ than skin. 

“I can still feel it,” she said. “The hook.”

The warm film of comfort shared shattered and it was only years of combat training that kept Djarin from immediately tensing for a fight. “What do we need to do?”

“Nothing.” Her tone was sullen, not afraid. Without pulling away, she wrangled most of her hair into a single twist. “It wasn’t the relic I felt. My blood is… Cursed. I felt my father through our shared blood, but since he was dead…”

Some of the fear settled, but not all. “Will it hurt you?”

“Not- The- It-” She sighed and pressed her face tighter against this armor. “I control the curse now, but the feeling of him, of  _ Dad, _ is now… The fear of the relic. I can’t forget it.”

What could he say to that? She had a sense he couldn’t understand and now it would conflate what should feel like safety and home with terror. Nothing in his life had prepared him for comforting someone through such horrors. In the covert, everyone kept their own council. If anyone had been suffering he hadn’t known and his own hurts had been locked beneath his helmet. So he did the only thing he could, tilt his face down until his forehead was touching the top of her head.

“Everyone is so happy he’s back. Relieved. Delighted. And here I am. Crying because of my affliction.” Power crackled across her skin and tore open her cheekbone, heralding a fresh wave of tears.

Djarin pressed his thumb against the wound. He whispered into her hair. “You have a gift. No one in our  _ aliit _ will turn their backs on you for having a gift. And yours makes you a better warrior.”

Her fingers were like fire when they settled over his hand. There was a slight tingling and then he felt her skin knit together under his thumb. She sniffed.

“It should be hard to imagine fighting anymore  _ dar’jetii _ kark after what we went through, but I know I can count on you. It was frightening, but we made it through together.” He felt like he was standing at the edge of the camp, looking down over the sheer cliff face. There would be no coming back from what he wanted to say next. He would never be able to go back to the old covert and the way he’d lived then. His helmet wouldn’t be able to protect his heart the way it had. That would be okay. “That’s what family does.”

Aquila laughed, weak as it was, and shifted until her face was pressed under his chin. “You’re an ass.”

“Give it time.”

“I know.”

\---

Meshurok Yaim was not so large that Djarin thought he would leave Aquila’s tent unnoticed the next morning, but it was something else entirely to run into Kyra. As if he hadn’t done anything wrong, because he hadn’t, he held out his hands for Nuhu. “Thank you for watching him.”

“Of course.” Kyra wasn’t wearing her helmet, so there was no missing her sidelong glance at Aquila’s tent. Or the way her eyes lingered on it before returning to Djarin. “My little ones love him.  _ Buir _ said he was already fifty years old? It’ll certainly be interesting when he finally grows up.”

Djarin nodded and turned, planning to retrieve his gear from the Crest for some routine maintenance until his thoughts decided to cooperate and drop out of hyperspace. However, he made it only one step before Kyra caught his arm. 

“Something’s come up.”

He tilted his helmet, a silent, ‘Since a moment ago?’

“No, while you both were gone.  _ Alor  _ wanted to tell you in person, but obviously bringing Fox back changed a few things.” Kyra pulled a datachit out of a pouch on her belt and held it out.

“What, then?”

“Mandalore knows we took you both in, so when he scouts reported back, he forwarded the intell to us.”

Djarin took the chit and turned it over. “Information on Nuhu’s kind?”

Kyra’s frown said it all. “Moff Gideon survived the downed Tie-fighter.” She tightened her grip. “And he has the darksaber.”

“The what?”

“You’re kidding.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I thought your clan was full of Viszlas?”

“Meshurok is my clan-”

“Good.”

“-But even so, what’s wrong with Viszlas?”

“Clan Viszla allied with the Jedi.”

“Our enemies?”

Kyra glanced in the direction of the command tent. “To be fair to them, it’s more complicated than that.  _ Alor _ sees them as a personal insult, so give up the idea of a more-nuanced answer. Bottom line: the darksaber is a powerful weapon and if it’s more than just a trophy to him… Let’s just say, the op won’t be as cut and dry and we’d like.”

Head spinning, Djarin took a moment to rock Nuhu as he collected his thoughts. “There’s an op already?”

“He slaughtered our people. You couldn’t pay the other clans to stay out of this. Mandalore’s going to interview you about the assault on Nevarro. When you talk to him, make it clear where your allegiance lays.”

“I already risked everything for Nuhu. That should be clear.”

“Clan Viszla’s been Clan Mandalore more than a few times. Mandalore the Patient knows he was second choice, so he’s insecure about his position.”

“I was raised to keep my helmet on and my blaster pointed in the right direction. I didn’t sign up for all of this sorcery and politics.”

Kyra threw her head back and laughed. While still chuckling, she punched Djarin in the shoulder. “Welcome to the family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hello, yes, thank you for reading!
> 
> I'm still fielding suggestions for the sequel! Please let me know what you think and what you want to see next!

**Author's Note:**

> Check out [Brightly Burning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910915) my complete Mandalorian/Reader fic!
> 
> Find me on [discord](https://discord.gg/ynkttur), [tumblr](https://tk-duveraun.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/duveraun)!


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